


A Perfect Pair

by malixa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors, Embarrassment, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Patronuses, Pining, Snark, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malixa/pseuds/malixa
Summary: Sometimes, a person’s patronus will change from its original form to the one of the object of their affections. In Defense Against Dark Arts class, Draco’s patronus is not a gazelle like it had been years before – it’s a stag.





	A Perfect Pair

**Author's Note:**

> As always, English isn't my first language so if you see any errors or if I misused any words, please let me know. I hope you like it!

“Alright class!” Professor Clearwood says, clapping her hands together. “Today we will be covering dementors.”

 

Next to Harry, Hermione whispers. “I thought we were covering illegal artefacts today. I researched all night and I–”

 

“Yes, Ms Granger.” Professor Clearwood interrupts, not unkindly. “It was in the plan for today, but due to unforeseen events we will have to schedule it in for next week. As you may know, Azkaban is at its full capacity due to recent _influx_ and as it is currently housing some of the most powerful wizards in the world, more demontors were appointed a few months ago. Last night, we received news that dementors had been spotted on the mainland.”

 

Harry hears Hermione’s sharp intake of breath next to him and tears his gaze from the floor to look up at Professor Clearwood.

 

“Which is why we are covering this in class today. You’re all adults and most of you have…experience. This doesn’t mean that the school expects you to take on more responsibility than you are willing to, but it does mean that we want you to be prepared if something were to happen.”

 

From the back of the class, someone pipes in. “What if we don’t want to, Miss?”

 

“You are free to leave class after we have finished the theory on Dementors, but I would recommend that you stay for the practical part of this session as well, even if you choose not to participate. As you may know, dementors are foul creatures and should you happen upon one, it is in your best interest to be prepared. Can someone tell me what it is a dementor does?”

 

Beside Harry, Hermione raises her hand. Some of the other students put up their hands as well.

 

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

 

“They feed on happiness, professor.”

 

“And what can that lead to?”

 

“At first a feeling of despair, or depression. If they are not warded off they consume one’s soul.”

 

“Exactly, Ms Granger.” Ms Clearwood says. “And what charm is used to fend off dementors?” She asks, directing the question at the rest of the class.

 

“The patronus charm.” Someone answers from the back.

 

“Please raise your hand before speaking, Mr Johnson, but you are of course correct. I know some of you already master this charm.” She says, and Harry can feel Ron’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t turn to look at him. “But it serves everyone to practise. Can anyone tell me what must accompany the charm to make it work?”

 

Hermione raises her arm again.

 

“Yes, Miss Granger.”

 

“A happy memory. The happiest you can think of.”

 

“Correct. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

 

She goes on to talk about the history of dementors and their purpose. Harry already knows most of it, so he doesn’t listen too closely. The memories he has of dementors aren’t too cheerful and it reminds him of Remus, which still hurts to think about. Harry never got to know him as closely as he wanted to before he died, but his loss didn’t hurt any less. By the time she’s finished talking about dementors, he’s feeling worse for wear and can’t really imagine scraping together a happy enough memory to chase one off.

 

“Now, as I said.” Professor Clearwood reminds them. “You are free to leave, but I urge you to stay.”

 

No one leaves, which seems to please her.

 

“Alright, form a line.”

 

The students attempt to form a line. Harry gets shuffled around and somehow ends up behind Malfoy of all people. Months ago, he’d seen Malfoy on the first day of school, sitting by himself at the welcome feast. He’d left as soon as propriety allowed it, without having eaten as much as a crumb. It’s visible in the tense line of his shoulders that he doesn’t want to be here, at Hogwarts. He’s skinnier than Harry’s ever seen him and he’s always alone, sitting in the back of the classroom in every class they share. Sometimes, Malfoy catches Harry looking at him, but he never comments about it. Most of the time he just looks back at him.

 

Sometimes at night, when Harry can’t sleep and he can’t bear to lay still in his bed any longer, he’ll grab a book or an assignment of some sort and go down to the common room the eight-years share. Most of the time Draco is there, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. Harry will sit in the chair closest to the fire and while they never speak, it’s sort of, for a lack of better word, _nice_. Malfoy doesn’t pester him like Hermione does and he doesn’t need the reassurance that everything is fine like Ron does. Harry feels guilty about it sometimes, he knows that his friends are worried about him. It’s just nice to enjoy the silence without having someone not ask him how he’s doing all the damn time.

 

“Now,” Professor Clearwood says, drawing Harry from his thoughts. “I won’t let anything happen to any of you. I assure you that you are all quite safe. If any of you seem to be struggling I will step in, alright?”

 

She taps the huge closet in the front of the classroom and door starts to creak open. A dementor, just as large and soulless as Harry remembers, slowly creeps out into the room. Immediately, a sense of cold falls over the classroom, filling each inch of the space. As if floats towards them, a trail of frost appears in its wake, spreading across the floor.

 

“Stay calm.” Professor Clearwood instructs, as people start drawing back.

 

Johnson, where he is at the front of the line, takes a deep breath. He raises his wand and flicks it, shouting the charm. It doesn’t take.

 

“Your happiest memory, Johnson!” Professor Clearwood shouts. “Remember it!”

 

This time, when Johnson casts the charm, a bright glow erupts from the tip of his wand. The white glow emerges into a huge owl, which flaps its wings and the dementor is driven backwards by the light, back into the closet. Professor Clearwood slams it shut and flicks the lock.

 

“Brilliant, Mr Johnson.” She says as the class erupts into applause. “Next!”

 

The dementor is released and locked back up again and again. Most of the students are able to ward it off and Professor Clearwood only needs to step in twice. After the second time, she calls for a break and opens a box of chocolate. She hands a piece to Charlotte Wilkerson, who’s shivering and looking far too pale despite her dark skin.

 

“Works like a charm.” She says with a wink and makes Charlotte take another piece. “I learned this from a friend of mine, always works.”

 

As she says it she looks at Harry, who can only look back at her. He hadn’t known that she knew Remus, much less that had discussed their session with her. He finds that he doesn’t mind actually. He likes professor Clearwood and she’s brilliant at what she does, having been a auror for years before being called in as a teacher.

 

“Alright, I think that’s good. Who’s next?”

 

It turns out Malfoy is.

 

“Ready?” Professor Clearwood asks.

 

Malfoy nods sharply.

 

Professor Clearwood taps the closet and the door creaks again, the grey mass of the dementor sliding out through the small opening. Malfoy raises his wand, but seems unable to do anything else.

 

“Your happiest memory, Malfoy!” Professor Clearwood shouts.

 

He raises his wand again and Harry can see his hand trembling, can hear his shaky inhales. Malfoy steels himself and casts the charm, but it peters out into nothingness.

 

“Try again!” Professor Clearwood shouts and Harry can see her preparing herself to step in.

 

Malfoy casts the charm once more and this time, a burst of white shines from the tip of wand. A creature emerges from the glow and at first Harry can’t make out what it is. It’s a big animal, and Harry realizes with surprise that it has antlers. It’s a _stag_. He hears Hermione’s gasp from behind him and sees Draco’s hand start to shake again. The stag disappears before it has had time to ward off the dementor and it’s suddenly looming above them like a dark shadow. Malfoy takes a step back, bumping into Harry and before Harry has had the time to think about it, he casts the charm.

 

His stag bursts from his wand and it’s so obvious to him now, that it’s the very same stag that Draco had conjured. A perfect pair. The dementor is driven backwards, and Harry feels a burst of elation run through him as the dementor is driven back into the closet. Wordlessly, Professor Clearwood slams the closet shuts and locks it with a flick of her wand. She seems shaken up as she turns to the class, who’s now gone still. There’s no applause this time. After a moment of silence, the class bursts into loud whispers.

 

“Quiet!” Professor Clearwood shouts and the class grows silent once again. “I think that’s enough for today. Class dismissed.”

 

Harry is about to protest, but Hermione tugs on his sleeve. He follows her out of the classroom through the throngs of students, having the wherewithal to see if Ron is following them. Which he is, with a struck expression on his face. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ron look so shocked.

 

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, but Hermione ignores him and pulls him away from the rest of the class, who all seems to be staring at him. Harry hasn’t missed this feeling of that.

 

Hermione pulls him into an abandoned hallway and into an empty classroom, finally releasing her hold on his jumper.

 

“Do you have anything you need to tell us, Harry?” She asks.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s alright, mate. If you…need to.” Ron adds.  


“What do you mean?”

 

They share a look before they both look back at him again.

 

“What’s this all about? You’re being ridiculous.”

 

Hermione releases a heavy breath. “Harry, did you not see Draco’s patronus charm?”

 

“Yes, I did. It was a stag. And how bloody weird wasn’t that?”

 

Hermione and Ron look wearily at each other.

 

“What?” Harry asks.

 

“Did you not pay attention to a word Professor Clearwood said?” Hermione demands incredulously, she looks at over at Ron. “You heard it didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah.” Ron answers.

 

“I didn’t really pay attention.” Harry admits. “I figured I knew enough already.”

 

“Harry.” Hermione starts, shooting a quick look at Ron. “Sometimes, people have the same patronus and there’s a reason for that. They’re an embodiment of your soul or something dear to you.”

 

“Right. Like mine’s a stag, like my dad’s animagus.”

 

“Exactly.” Hermione says. “Except not at all. Did you really have no idea how Draco felt about you?”

 

“What, the fact that he hates me? I knew that already, he’s probably run off to sulk about the fact that he has the same patronus as me.”

 

“Mate.” Ron says, sounding far too uncomfortable. “Malfoy ran off to hide, but it definitely wasn’t to sulk.”

 

“Harry, sometimes a person’s patronus will change from its original form to the one of whom they love, _dearly._ ”

 

“No, that…that can’t be. People must have the same patronuses all the time.”

 

“Well, sometimes they do.” Hermione agrees. “But as I said, patronuses are an embodiment of yourself, and there are millions of creatures out there, Harry. And we also…” She sighs and looks over at Ron uncomfortably.

 

“In fifth year,” Ron starts. “Me and ‘Mione overheard Malfoy talking to Blaise, about how his father had arranged for a private tutor for him. ‘Cause he didn’t believe that the professors at Hogwarts were good enough to teach him. He was going on about how much of an idiot every professor at school was, and then he mentioned his patronus. He was boasting about it Harry, about it being a gazelle.”

 

“We didn’t tell you because we though you would start doing the whole _thing_ again. Thinking that he was up to something and following him around, instigating something.”

 

“He might have lied.”

 

“What reason would he have to lie?” Hermione asks.

 

“Because he’s a pretentious prat and gazelles are sort of pretentious?”

 

“A ferret _,_ he’d lie about.” Ron interjects. “But a _stag?_ No reason to lie about that, mate.”

 

Hermione makes a noise of agreement. “It makes no sense for him to have lied about having a stag of all animals. They stand for virility and endurance. In pagan religion they’re even a symbol of a higher power, a deity if you will. Why would he be ashamed about that?”

 

“Pagan religion?” Ron asks.

 

“Now is not the time for you develop an interest in paganism, Ron.” Hermione chides.

 

“Alright, jeez. Sorry.”

 

“But…” Harry takes a deep breath and releases it in a rush. There has to be another explanation for this. Malfoy would _never_ , he just wouldn’t. Even if he had an interest in men, Harry would surely be at the bottom of the list of men he could ever fall in love with. Malfoy hates him, with passion. He’d never feel like that about Harry, even if Harry, in some of his darkest moments, has wanted him to. He can admit as much, if only to himself.

 

“I need to talk to him.”

 

Hermione makes a face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry.”

 

“Why not?”

 

She looks at Ron for support, but Ron only shrugs.

 

“Because if he really feels like this about you, you shouldn’t be cruel about it.”

 

“I wasn’t planning to be.”

 

A moment passes before it dawns on her. “Oh.”

 

The surprise on her face is almost funny. With wide eyes she nods, seemingly to herself. She looks away from his face and seems to have suddenly gained an interest in the stone floor beneath their feet.

 

“Yeah.” Harry agrees. “I’m going to go find him.”

 

“Wait!” Hermione shouts.

 

Harry stops and she gives him a serious look. “ _Gazelles_ are wary creatures, Harry.”

 

“What?” Ron asks.

 

“You explain it to him, I have to go.”

 

Harry doesn’t where to look at first. These last few months, Malfoy has made himself scarce and while Harry knows some of his hideouts, it’s been a while since he last followed him around. He looks in the astronomy tower first, but finds no sign of him. The second place he goes to is the abandoned hallway where the room of requirement would appear, but he’s not there either. Harry searches the alcoves of the seventh floor, where he’s seen Malfoy appear on the Marauder’s map at least a hundred times, but they’re all empty. Lastly, he goes to the owlery, and finds nothing.

 

As he stands there on the steps, small flecks of snow melting on his nose, he spots a dark shadow down by the lake. It’s too difficult to see from here, but it very well could be him. The bastard always liked to sulk in depressing places. Harry had been one step away from heading down to the first-floor girl’s bathroom to ask Myrtle if she knew anything.

 

He takes the steps two-by-two all the way down to the first floor and out through the huge, oak front doors. It’s a brisk walk, Harry probably should have thought to bring a jacket, but there’s no way he’s going back inside now. He casts a heating spell, but he’s never been as good at them as Hermione and it fades within a couple of minutes. This time of year, the lake is frozen over and the snow that surrounds the castle might not be steep, but Harry still feels the cold through his shoes. When he reaches the lake, he looks around and spots the same shadow of black in the distance, now beneath a tree.

 

Malfoy, because it _is_ him, is sitting by the roots of one of the trees that surround the lake. He’s found a dry spot, where the branches are too dense to let any snow through. When he spots Harry, he freezes. His eyes are wide, the look of surprise on his face almost comical, but Harry can’t bring himself to even smile.

 

“Come to boast, have you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Right, because you’d be ashamed about this. I can already imagine the headlines of tomorrow’s newspapers, are you giving an interview? About the horrors of having caught the attention of a previous death eater?”

 

Collectively, it’s the longest Harry has heard Malfoy speak in months. It’s probably the longest _anyone_ has heard him speak in months.

 

“You really think I’d willingly be in a room with a journalist ever again?”

 

Malfoy stares at him for a moment longer before he breaks eye contact and looks out on the lake. It’s not in the slightest an invitation for Harry to sit, but he’s is going to take it as one. Malfoy doesn’t move when Harry sits down next to him, and just like in the common room at night, he stays silent too. The tree might offer some protection, but it’s bloody cold. Harry folds his hands together and sticks them between his thighs for some warmth. Next to him, Malfoy seems completely unbothered. He’s wrapped up in this huge coat his taken to wearing, his cheeks flushed with what Harry is sure is heat, not cold.

 

With a roll of his eyes, Draco pulls out his wand from his sleeve and extends his heating charm. Toasty heat settles over Harry like a blanket, all the way to the tips of fingers, which he wiggles, prompting another eye roll.

 

“Was it always a stag?” Harry asks.

 

“What do you think, Potter.”

 

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked. And I think you can call me Harry now.” And Harry might as well start calling Malfoy his first name as well.

 

Draco doesn’t respond. At first, Harry assumes that’s it. That Draco is going to start ignoring him from now on. The silence stretches on, but Harry has become accustomed to silence. He can wait if that’s what it takes. The snow eventually stops falling around them and the moon peeks out of the skies.

 

“It was a gazelle.”

 

Draco turns to look at him and Harry can’t for the life of him discern the look on his face.

 

“It was really pretty, as far as patronuses go _._ ” He says casually and looks back to the lake.

 

“Stags aren’t so bad.”

 

“No.” Draco agrees. “They’re not.”

 

Now that Draco is looking away, Harry takes the opportunity to take a good look at him. The few, subtle gazes he’s able to sneak in during mealtimes, from several tables away, never seem to last long enough. In a way, he’s grown up with Draco. They have spent seven, now eight, years in the same castle, sharing some of the same classes, mealtimes, even holidays together, and a few more challenging times too.

 

Draco has grown into himself in the course of the years, he might still be skinny, but he’s no longer as gangly as he once was. His jaw has turned sharp and in the dim light of the castle, Harry can see stubble on his chin as well. He’s handsome, Harry thinks, despite the lilac bruises under his eyes and the blank look he catches in his eyes sometimes. Draco must be aware that he’s staring, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Harry looks down at his own hands and feels the urge to reach over and grab Draco’s hand, where it’s now curled on his thigh. He’s clenching so hard it looks like it hurts.

 

“What did you think about?” Harry finds himself asking, curious.

 

Draco frowns at him.

 

“When you were casting the charm, what did you think about? It didn’t seem to…hold up very well.”

 

Draco doesn’t reply for a few long, tense seconds. “ _He_ sometimes made us relay messages like that, through patronuses. Sometimes, I couldn’t manage to do it and he’d force me to…he’d…” Draco takes a deep breath. “I couldn’t hold my concentration well, thinking about it, but my memory was happy enough I suppose.”

 

“You _suppose._ It’s meant to be your happiest one, Draco.”

 

“I know that, _Harry_.” He mutters. “Unfortunately, I don’t have very many of those.”

 

“Oh.” Harry says, mollified. “Maybe we could…create some?”

 

At this, Draco turns to him and _really_ looks at him for the first time this evening. For the first time in weeks, months possibly, he looks amused. Harry looks back and the amusement slowly turns into something else, something that makes heat stir in Harry’s gut. A moment passes like that, until Harry’s gaze slips form Draco’s eyes to his mouth.

 

Draco tilts his head to the side and Harry takes it for the invitation it is, leaning in to press his lips against Draco’s. He feels Draco’s sharp inhale right before they connect, feels the corner of his mouth curl upwards as they part, just a little bit. He leans in for another, longer kiss, wondering if he’s ever going to be able to stop, now that he’s had this. A light push of a hand to his chest makes him pull back, but Draco’s fingers curl into his jumper, keeping him there, keeping them close together.

 

“Do you really think one kiss from the saviour himself is going to make for a happy enough memory?” Draco says. “Potter, you really are full of yourself.”

 

“I don’t know, maybe. And that was two kisses, I think, technically.”

 

Draco seems to have taken it as a challenge. He pulls out his wand from his coat sleeve and this time, when he casts the charm, there’s no hesitation. White bursts from the tip of his wand and a stag appears in the air before them, bright and bold. Harry decides to join in and casts the charm as well, watching as the two of them light up the darkness around them. The two stags take off, leaping and bounding around each other. Blindly, Harry reaches for Draco’s hand and finds it, filling the spaces in-between Draco's fingers with his own.

 

They both watch, enraptured, as the two stags dance across the ice.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are (very, very) welcome!


End file.
